


Misheard

by Qtheallpowerful



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hummus, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 05:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20168560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qtheallpowerful/pseuds/Qtheallpowerful
Summary: Aziraphale mishears Crowley, but it all works out in the end.





	Misheard

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [SevenJetC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenjetc/profile) for misreading my notes.  
Thanks also to[ Irisbleufic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/profile) for the editing and allowing me constantly chat at them.
> 
> Written purely for entertainment, no profit is being made.

Not long before the failed Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale met at a discreet Mediterranean restaurant to exchange information. It was vital that they keep apprised the other’s progress with the Antichrist, after all, and what better way than over a tasty lunch?  


As often happened, they drank a little too much and said a few too many things that they had not intended. They eventually sobered up and parted ways.  


Months later, once the End of the World had come and gone, neither was particularly bothered about the state of things. In fact, they were quite happy with how the world stood, since they had both been blissfully out of contact with their respective sides for long enough that they felt safe. No one was going to come after them with Holy Water or Hellfire to send them into oblivion.  


Every week, they met at St. James’s Park to feed the ducks. Afterward, they had lunch at a different restaurant each time. As usual, they enjoyed each other’s company.  


Much like the Arrangement had come about in the first place, they didn’t spend much time discussing these outings. They just let them happen.  
Then, things changed. It started, simply enough, with an invitation to the bookshop.  


Aziraphale had something important he needed to discuss with Crowley, and the duck pond just wouldn’t do. A year had passed since Armageddon, and, from how Crowley sounded on the phone, the suddenness of the invitation put Crowley on edge.  


On his arrival at the bookshop, Crowley appeared quite surprised at the candles and hummus laid out on the back-room table. The bottles of Rosenblum Red Zinfandel seemed to increase Crowley’s worry.  


Aziraphale returned from the kitchenette to find Crowley pouring himself a glass. He knew it was Crowley’s favored coping mechanism, which made him even more certain Crowley was stressed.  


Crowley cleared his throat. “Angel, what’s going on?”  


Aziraphale took a deep breath that he didn’t need.  


“I don’t quite know how to tell you, my dear. I know how much you dislike change, but this has been a long time coming.”  


Crowley put down his glass, heartbreakingly glum.  


“It’s Heaven, isn’t it? They want you back. Just like them to leave you alone for this long, only to make you feel safe. With Hell, at least you know where you stand.”  


“What?” Aziraphale sputtered. “No! Why would you think that?”  


“I haven’t seen you this nervous since you found the Book.” Crowley gestured vaguely at the table. “You’re clearly getting in one last bout of Gluttony before you go. I wish you would’ve told me sooner, given me time to prepare. Can’t stand goodbyes, you know that.”  


“Crowley, what are you on about?” Aziraphale demanded. “I’m not going anywhere. That’s rather the point. Heaven _did_ get in contact, but not to recall me. Rather the opposite.”  


“The opposite?” Crowley asked. “What does that even _mean_?”  


“It means, dear boy, that Heaven wants nothing more to do with me. Seems I’ve become too attached to humanity for their taste.”  


“Oh. I’m, er, sorry?”  


“It’s all right. It’s better than all right, I should think.”  


“Right, angel. Then what’s with all the hummus?”  


“Well,” Aziraphale explained cheerfully, “it’s for you.”  


“Me?” said Crowley, in disbelief. “Why would you get _twelve_ types of hummus for me? Especially this one? Chocolate? Who blends chocolate with chickpeas?”  


Aziraphale blushed. “But…but you said you loved it? Tradition does have it that confessions of this sort are accompanied by food. It’s the only thing that I have _ever_, in six millennia, heard you express such affinity for. You were quite intense in your declaration.”  


“I said that I loved hummus?” Crowley echoed. “I doubt it. This stuff’s not my speed.”  


“You did. 1985. You had just finished telling me about some rather clever thing you had seen young Warlock do, which showed he was leaning toward not wanting to end all of Creation. We were at that little Mediterranean place, eating shawarma.”  


Crowley thought for a few minutes, and then smacked the table.  


“Humans, angel! I said that I love _humans_, not _hummus_!”  


It was Aziraphale’s turn to think. This had all gone terribly wrong. Well, tradition be damned.  


Aziraphale put his glass down and leaned into Crowley’s space.  


“Crowley,” he said softly, reaching to touch Crowley’s cheek, and drew him into a kiss.  


Crowley briefly leaned into the kiss, and then pushed away. He was blushing deeply, and looked more shy than scared, which Aziraphale took as a good sign.  


“Ngk,” Crowley managed, running his fingers over his lips. “What are you playing at?”  


Aziraphale handed Crowley his glass, which Crowley drained, refilled, and drained again.  


A few deep breaths later, Crowley was speaking again. “Well. I just…hadn’t expected…”  


Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, pleased when Crowley didn’t reject his touch this time.  


“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you, but…the situation was getting rather out of hand, not to mention off-topic. I’d like to make the Arrangment something a little more…formal. I love you, Crowley. I thought it was high time we discussed it. Made some plans, if you will.’  


“Plans,” Crowley echoed. “Yes. Plans are good. We, er. I mean—yes.”  


The hummus was soon gone, the wine swiftly drunk, and the rest? History.


End file.
